by Huck Pilgrim
Veronica placed her hands flat on his strong chest, pressed her body against his, and then sank to her knees at his feet, letting her fingertips travel down along his body. Pressing her cheek against his groin, Veronica shamelessly nuzzled her face against the front of his pants.
Looking up at him, Veronica begged: “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Please, please,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”
The boy glared down at her with his hands on his hips.
Veronica looked unsure what to do next. Glancing quickly around the room, she looked concerned. Clearly she’d expected her pleas to win more from the boy.
She caught Joe’s eye. He pressed his lips together. Improvise.
Turning back to the boy, Veronica opened her mouth as if she were about to plead some more. And then she caught herself. She sighed and squared her shoulders. Raising her hands to his pants, she silently began to unfasten his belt.
A chuckle went up from the room. The boy’s frown broke, replaced by a wide, mirthless grin, his gold cap gleaming in his mouth.
She quickly unfastened his pants. Lowered his fly.
Veronica was about to tug down the waist band of his boxer shorts, when the boy brushed her hands away. He put the heel of his hand on her forehead. Tilting her head back, he grinned down at her mercilessly.
“Imma let you make it up,” he said. “I got something else in mind for you.”
Veronica smiled. Lowered her head.
Taking her head in his hands, the boy pressed her face against his groin. He stroked her hair, as if she were an expensive pet. Veronica glanced at Joe. She looked relieved but apprehensive. The boy ground his hips against her face, and she willingly nuzzled her cheek against him, but her expression didn’t change.
“She ready,” the boy announced to the room.
Donnell and his crew laughed. Joe realized he had been holding his breath. He exhaled. Relaxed. Reminded himself that he didn’t have an investment in the girl. Any of this. His commitment was to the deal. His commission.
Joe forced himself to grin. He sat back in his chair.
Listening to the other boy’s laughter, Joe found himself growing irritable. Agitated. He couldn’t sit still. He had to remind himself to keep the smile on his face. Try not to look too imposing. He fidgeted in his seat.
Who was he kidding?
This was a local girl, a Carnal girl. His friend’s own daughter. He’d have to babysit her tonight. Make sure she came out of this thing whole. He owed that much to Maynor, her father, his own good friend and partner.
Probably take until dawn. Maybe even a little longer. Molly would be pissed.
II
The boys moved Veronica to an adjoining room. Joe watched the three of them in the reflection of a mirror on the opposite wall. A mattress was laid out in the middle of the room. Veronica looked toward Joe, but he avoided her eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, Joe watched her turn away. She’d have to rely on her own abilities to get through the night.
Already nude, the olive skinned boy had a slim, muscled body that was striking because he kept it completely hairless, even between his legs. If there had been any negotiations over who would go first, Joe had missed them.
The other boy took a seat on the couch and splayed his legs wide, his hat pushed back on his head. He would watch.
Veronica seemed to be growing more comfortable with her situation. She kicked off her left shoe, then her right. She gazed at the boy’s hard penis. He had some sort of piercing in his cock and, like any boy with an uncomfortable looking piece of jewelry sticking out of his penis, seemed eager to show it off. Veronica slowly removed her clothes, neatly folding each article, making a little pile next to the makeshift bed.
Bobby socks. Top. Tights.
Joe felt his cock swell in his pants. Veronica stood in her bra and panties: flat tummy, slender waist, creamy skin.
Joe remembered first meeting Veronica at her father’s lakeside house. She’d worn a black string bikini and had spent the late morning on a blanket in the sun. A small troop of boyfriends took turns smearing tanning oil on her slender, sun-browned body. Her thighs and tummy glistened. Her father had invited half-a-dozen men from the club over for a cookout. Joe hadn’t realized the cookout was also Veronica’s birthday party. He watched her all afternoon, then felt guilty when the cake finally appeared holding only fourteen flickering candles. Fourteen?
Even at that age, she was a little tart: Delivering long neck brown bottles in the hot afternoon sun to all the men, sidling up close for sips of beer. She had a little game she liked to play, where she would deliver a beer, stand close by as the man who opened it, then grab the sweaty bottle back by its long neck. If the man surrendered the bottle, she would take a quick, furtive nip and then wipe the foam from her mouth with the back of her hand. If the man resisted—say he held the bottle high, just out of reach—then the game became more interesting. She would lean her sun-kissed body in even closer, maybe placing her hand on the man’s tummy, or pressing her tiny breast against his bicep. She might wordlessly pout, “Please,” or knock her groin against the man’s thigh.
Joe and the other men would laugh good-naturedly, even goad her on, but each man knew it was a fairly risky game, for her father watched it like a hawk. Woe to the man who came away from one of these little battles-of-will with a hard on swelling in his pants.
Veronica pulled her sports bra over her head and her breasts spilled out. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, then slipped them down her thighs. She had a shapely ass. Slim waist, long legs.
Donnell stopped working. Sat back in his chair. “Hey, girl,” he said.
Veronica turned to Donnell, one arm across her breasts, another hand shyly covering her sex. If she felt any lingering resentment over her situation, she didn’t let it show. She kept her face open, questioning. Raised her brow. Looked eager to please.
Donnell openly appraised her.
Veronica stood silently for a moment, a puzzled look on her face. When she finally grasped that he simply wanted a better look at her body, she smiled shyly. Her face flushed. Lowering her head, she held both her arms out, presenting herself. Her skin was flush and pink, her nipples hard brown nubs. The fur between her legs was dark, wispy and sparse, like the first shock of hair that appears on a newborn’s head.
Cutter stopped his work. Donnell smiled and looked at his friend. The boy on the couch eyed her like a hungry lion. Veronica looked around the room, reveling in the attention she now commanded.
The nude boy came up behind her, banging his hard cock on her hip. Turning to face him, Veronica grinned. He looked at her hungrily. Made an inviting motion toward the bed. Veronica looked to Donnell, but he had already gone back to his paperwork.
Climbing on the mattress, Veronica lay on her back and opened her legs. The boy knelt between her thighs, rubbing his cock on her labia. When he slid himself inside her, Veronica sighed and looped her legs over his hips. He settled into an athletic rhythm, his forearms on either side of her head. Veronica raised her head, entwined her arms around his neck, and then looked between their bodies. She watched him take his pleasure, spearing her again and again.
“You know her?” Donnell continued to look at the forms.
“I know her dad,” Joe said, his voice tight. He felt indicted, as much by Donnell’s question as the erection smoldering in his pants. “You will, too, if you intend to do any business in Carnal.” That last part had come out sounding too much like a threat. Joe knew it—he could hear the menace in his voice—but it was too late to call it back.
Donnell looked up. Frowned. He assessed Joe, and then turned back to the paperwork before him.
An uncomfortable moment of silence followed.
“I can introduce you,” Joe said, trying to fill the silence. He wanted to walk his tone back a bit, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Maybe,” he added, “get you a meeting.”
Joe couldn’t help himself. He’d spent his whole
life in Carnal, and he knew how this town worked. It wasn’t like other small towns. Folks here could find themselves tangled in the most wanton of sexual vices, or doomed to some sudden sexual humiliation, and all of it—indulgence to damnation—was preceded by the same knee-buckling, burning smell. Carnal was a fickle place, a town of schoolgirls and whores. Some people could live here all their lives and never notice the burning smell once. Molly was that way. Other folks discovered the scent as they were passing through, and then stayed and chased it for the rest of their lives, allowing it to drive them to madness, or an early grave.
Joe was doing his best not to let that happen to him.
But he hated the idea of outsiders—bloodsuckers like these boys—blowing into town and using the prettiest girls, the one’s least able to resist the town’s sweet push. Not that Joe thought there was anything wrong with sampling the fruit. But if you were going to enjoy a local, you should at least be willing to stick around to pay your dues. And by paying your dues, Joe meant, of course, giving The Faun her due.
Veronica mewled from the other room, a high pitched sound that clearly denoted lust. Looking in the mirror, Joe saw the boy change positions: He put her on her side, then straddled her thigh.
“She likes it,” Donnell said.
“She does,” Joe said. No point denying that. The boy slipped his wet cock between her legs and resumed his strokes. Veronica whimpered.
Looking at Donnell, Joe took a deep breath. “Let’s hope she continues to like it.” He allowed the warning in his voice this time, but grinned to deflect it a bit.
These boys were freeloaders. Taking the best the town had to offer and then moving on.
Donnell snorted, a thin smile creasing his face. He sat back in his chair, an irritable look on his face. “Are we going to have a problem?” Donnell asked.
Cutter stopped working with the powder. Reaching for a backpack at his feet, he pulled it into his lap, opened the main compartment, and then reached inside.
“No problem,” Joe said. He kept an eye on Cutter, the hand in the backpack. Nodding to the pile of drugs Veronica left on the table, Joe said: “Just business.”
Veronica groaned huskily from the other room.
“Dirty business,” Joe smiled.
Donnell returned his attention to the paperwork. Cutter resumed working with his powder.
Joe saw Veronica was on her back again, knees high. The boy looked like he was about ready to come. He was pounding her with his hips. Joe felt his own body respond, an insistent tightening in the crotch of his pants. The girl really wanted that cock. She had transformed from a playful teenager experimenting with her sex powers in her daddy’s backyard, to a young woman, with real appetites, writhing on her back on a mattress in Hoover Homes. Musing over the inevitable power of human sexual need, Joe remembered his own lack of good judgment in his teens and his twenties. How his cock had driven him, the same way this girl’s needs were driving her right now, spurring her forward.
Joe flinched. His thoughts went to sweet little Gloria Dean, Donnell’s own girlfriend, the same girl that Joe had taken advantage of the night she’d babysat for him last summer.
Joe pursed his lips and glanced toward Donnell.
Gloria’s aunt had asked Joe to help the girl find work, pointing out that she was new to Carnal. She babysat for Joe once. A single time. He’d come home early with Molly that night and found Gloria in the garage, blowing Donnell. Joe had chased Donnell off, and then driven Gloria home. When he stopped at the bank to pay her, he gently humiliated her. Couldn’t help himself. It was easy, she was easy. He toyed with her. Afterwards, he dropped her at her aunt’s house, the cabin of his Volvo reeking of sex. He remembered how she bounded across her aunt’s front lawn, the honeyed fragrance of her wet little pussy on his fingers. At the front door, she turned. Waved. And then she was gone. (Ed., See The Sitter Needs a Ride in Summer Shorts for more on Joe’s night with Donnell’s girl.)
Dirty business indeed.
Joe had pushed her from his mind, relegated that night with her as an unfortunate accident. A slip. He thought maybe he’d get away with it. Molly never discovered. The girl’s aunt still talked to him. Only Donnell seemed to suspect anything, but somehow this suspicion seemed to drive—rather than inhibit—his relationship with Joe.
Veronica mewled. The boys hips made a series of loud slapping noises. Reaching between her open legs, Veronica began furiously rubbing her clit.
Thrusting her hips high, Veronica wailed. The boy ground himself into her in return. He groaned and then pulled his slick dick from her sex. Using his fist to stroke himself, he sprayed her body with his milky seed. Joe watched a glob of vanilla-colored cum roll down Veronica’s breast as the boy sprayed the rest of his semen on her abdomen. Veronica propped herself on her elbows and looked at her wet belly. Hot, sticky cum. The boy methodically wrung his cock onto her pussy with his fist. Rubbing his cream into her skin, she reached between her legs and rotated her hips to savor the last vestiges of her orgasm.
When the boy finished, he laughed. He looked to his partner on the couch and said something Joe couldn’t make out. Reaching to her face, the boy scooped a little dab of his cum from her cheek. Veronica grinned. Taking his finger in her mouth, she licked him clean.
With a loud scrape, Cutter pushed his chair back. Pulling the surgical mask from his face, he stood, then tilted the back of his chair against the table.
“Imma take a little break,” Cutter said. He had his eyes on Veronica, luxuriating on the mattress, giggling with the boy who had just finished her off.
“Nobody sit here.” Cutter said. He pointedly looked at Joe, then moved off toward the adjoining room. Donnell grinned and glanced at Joe, who tracked Cutter in the mirror as he approached the girl.
“Child, child, child” Cutter said.
He stood at the edge of the mattress and spoke softly, honey in his voice. Veronica gazed up at him. “You,” he whispered, lowering the timber of his voice seductively, “are the most amazing girl.” Veronica turned herself, quickly scrambling onto her knees to face the big man, probably as much to hear what he was saying as to show him some respect. She looked intimidated. He was so black, and his body so squat and hard. He had so many tattoos.
“Such gorgeous eyes, such pretty hair…” Cutter cooed.
He kept his voice so soft Veronica had to focus to hear him. She knelt before him, her hands resting in her lap, her head titled up, a look of mild astonishment on her face. For a brief moment, Joe pictured her as one of the Catholic school girls from Saint Barnaby’s, lined up on their knees at the front of church, waiting for the priest to lay the little wafer on their tongues. He quickly pushed this disturbing thought from his mind.
The nude boy chuckled. Hearing it, Cutter’s face suddenly turned hard. Violent. Turning to face the boy, Cutter barked: “What funny?” The lieutenant hung his head, quickly pulling on his pants.
Cutter paused for a beat and collected himself. No one said anything. Looking back at Veronica, he softened his face. She was young, her skin unblemished, her body perfection.
“You the whitest white girl I ever seen.” Cutter laughed.
Bowing her head, Veronica’s cheeks flushed. She was brimming with privilege, affluence, and opportunity. “Can I touch your hair?” Cutter asked. He rubbed the fingertips of one hand together, waiting for permission.
Veronica nodded. Scooting forward on her knees to give him better access to her head, she moved too fast and had to put her hands on his thighs to steady herself. He wore nylon basketball pants and she ran her fingers along the shimmery material, letting her palms rest against him. His legs looked like they had been cut from stone.
He gathered her hair in one hand, then allowed the backs of his fingers to brush her cheek. Gazing up into his eyes, Veronica swallowed hard. An animal growl came from somewhere low in Cutter’s throat. Joe saw a look of fear pass over Veronica’s face, followed almost immediately by a look of embarrassment a
nd shame.
When Cutter saw her reaction, his face went solemn. “Help me,” he whispered, his voice urgent. “I need your help.”
Letting go her hair, he reached inside his pants. The outline of his cock became apparent inside the folds of his loose shorts. He held it by the base, its lovely round head rolling up along the inside of his pant leg, then across the front of his shorts. Lowering his waistband, he swung his cock out, holding it in his fist.
The cock was so black it was almost purple, a thick vein running down its length. He had a shock of nappy hair rising from his groin like a tornado. Cutter raised his t-shirt with one hand, exposing the low bulge of his tummy, his dark navel. He had powerful hips, a muscular abdomen. Three small stars tattooed on the inside of his thigh.